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Kevin Hart poem

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Today, I think that love
is simply watching her
peeling a mandarin
(as though an entire life
could depend on fingertips)

I have not spared my eyes
Since I became a man
and yet I little thought that I would feel desire
for fingers sprayed with juice

Today I looked ahead
and sitting opposite
saw her select some fruit
and quickly pierce its skin
with a fine fingernail
how little it will seem
enclosed in memory
sharing that mandarin
(But two entire lives
turned on her fingertips)
Just sometimes when she speaks
across the table
content with claret, ham and cheese
her voice goes deep
and at that moment (and no other)
she could take my soul.

 

And sometimes when she tears
a hunk of bread
and soaks it in the olive oil
she does not speak
and at that moment (and no other)
she could take my soul

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